Patrick got dressed in record time, strapping his dagger onto his right thigh and holstering his tactical pistol to his hip. Despite how hot the weather was, he opted to pull his leather jacket with its embedded charms and defensive wards from the closet. It provided some measure of protection, and Patrick figured he could use all the help he could get right now.
He left the apartment under Jono’s worried gaze, stepping outside the apartment building beneath a look-away ward sliding through the auras of the two reporters standing out of the gargoyles’ reach. He made his way down the block to where the Mustang was parked, got behind the wheel, and headed for Brooklyn.
Not for the first time did he wish the Mustang had lights and sirens, but it would’ve been impossible to hear Setsuna over the noise.
“We have a problem,” Patrick said when she picked up after their usual manner of calling code to signify who was reaching out.
“I’ve seen the news,” Setsuna replied.
“Not this morning’s, I’m betting.” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and tried not to press so hard on the gas pedal while still on city streets. “Youssef Khan was apparently found murdered this morning in Brooklyn with the trishula I’ve been tasked to find.”
Setsuna was quiet for a long few minutes, long enough for Patrick to pull onto West Street going south, picking up speed.
“I told you last year getting involved with pack politics would only cause problems.”
“The gods gave me Jono.”
“Who was an independent-ranked werecreature at the time. You should’ve kept it that way.”
“No,” Patrick ground out. “Jono deserved to have a pack.”
“Then you shouldn’t have been a part of it.”
“He gave me a family. That’s more than you’ve ever done for me.”
The words came out bitter and harsh, ringing in the confines of the car. The quiet on Setsuna’s side was heavy, but Patrick refused to break it. He refused to apologize for the truth he spoke.
“I did what I had to so that you stayed alive,” Setsuna said in a voice that was flat and leached of all emotion.
“By changing my name, boarding me at an Academy, and sending me off to the Citadel to prepare me for the Mage Corps. You hid me from Ethan because the gods told you to.”
“I supported you.”
Patrick kept his eyes on the road, ignoring the way his stomach twisted in his gut. “Maybe. But a house doesn’t make a home if you’re a burden to the people in it.”
Patrick had driven a quarter mile before Setsuna spoke again. “You were never a burden.”
“I find that real fucking hard to believe.”
“Believe what you like, but I did what I thought was best for you over the years.”
“And now? What do you want me to do about this mess? Because Henry ordered me to take over the crime scene, and while the trishula is my case, I shouldn’t fucking touch Youssef’s murder.”
“Is the PCB running it or the SOA?”
“PCB, but they called in federal support.”
“Then let them take the lead on the case. If you recuse yourself, that’s going to open up a new avenue of questioning you can’t afford.”
“I can’t affordthis.”
Setsuna made a frustrated sound. “You lost the protection your job could give you when you made your pack. I’ll make your excuses if I can.”
It wasn’t a promise. The choices Patrick had made since last year meant he couldn’t look to Setsuna for protection any longer. Not to the extent she used to be able to give it. Too many people were asking questions about his case history already after Chicago and his jaunt through Europe.
“I’ll keep you posted,” Patrick said.
Setsuna ended the call, and Patrick spent the rest of the drive to Brooklyn trying not to crack a molar. By the time he made it to the police line around the Grand Army Plaza, the sun had cleared the horizon and the air was already warm, indicating the start of a hot day.
